RWANDA – FINDING MY MOMENT OF MAGIC

There was only one real objective for me to come to the tiny East African country of Rwanda.  To visit its Genocide Memorial in the capitol city of Kagili, commemorating the needless deaths of more than one million Rwandans in April of 1994.  Out of a population of approximately 7 million, fully one third of the population was displaced, and one-sixth of the population was murdered.  Two-thirds of Rwandans became refugees in some ways during the terror.

Imagine the outrage, had these proportions been manifested in the United States, Europe, India, China, Brazil, Russia, or any so-called “civilized” country.

I wanted to know what steps could possibly lead to such an outrage against humanity, why nothing was done to prevent it by the International Community, and what is being done to prevent such occurrences taking place in the future anywhere on our planet?

This is what I learned.

Rwanda is made up of three primary tribes: The majority Hutu, the minority Tutsi, and a largely invisible super-minority consisting largely of pygmy gene stock called Twa.  In 1994 the Hutu make up about 84% of the population, the Tutsi nearly 15%, and the Twa about 1%.

The killing started on a minor scale yet with some regularity in 1959 at the time of independence from Belgium, with Hutu systematically eliminating Tutsi.  Additional pogroms were enacted in 1963 and 1973.  And then all hell broke loose in 1994.

The reason why is hard to decipher exactly.  But several major factors contributed.  Two tribes that had the same language, the same customs, the same culture, and had intermarried frequently were set at odds against each other by the occuping colonial power, Belgium.  The politics of divisiveness was deliberately promoted in order to maintain the need for continued Flemish rule by playing the two primary tribes in Rwanda off against each other.

Starting in 1932, identity cards were required.  The previously indistinguishable countrymen were now recognized through completely artificial groupings: if you owned more than ten cattle, were tall and thin you were labeled a Tutsi.  If you were shorter, stouter and appeared poor, you were labeled a Hutu.

This played off an earlier obsession by first the Germans and then the Belgians to notice and accentuate anthropological differences between the three tribes in ways that had never been noticed or catalogued previously.   The three groups did little to reject this classification.

The Belgians then told the majority Hutu: “The Tutsi think you are stupid.  You are being taken advantage of by them.  They will rule over you.”  The Catholic Church exacerbated the growing problem by segregating the two largest groups educationally.  The politics of envy and separation were thus promoted at every level.

Eventually, as killing of Tutsis accelerated, a large portion of them escaped as refugees to Uganda, Tanzania, Kenya and The Congo (formerly Zaire).  From 1959 to 1973, over 700,000 Tutsis emigrated from Rwanda.  From 1990 on, the Tutsi tried to organize a negotiated return to Rwanda.  They tried at first to deal peaceably with the existing Hutu power structure, and Hutu entrenchment.  They were told: “The glass is already full.  There is room for no more water.”

The Tutsi then became militant, seeking alternative means to redress their flight and systematic persecution.  They were led by Paul Kagame (currently The President of Rwanda) and his Rwanda Patriotic Front (or RPF), a general in the Uganda Army who was a refugee himself.  The Hutu in turn decided if the Tutsi were going to return by force, they would kill their still remaining rivals in Rwanda.

The stage was set for a massive elimination of Tutsi from the face of Rwanda.  The army was cleansed of Tutsi. The Kangura, a hate-inciting propaganda platform financed by Hutu, began daily lambasting the Tutsi. An accompanying radio station, KTLM, added its voice to the vitriol.  Tutsi were soon ordered to register with Hutu authorities.

A “Hitler Youth” type of Hutu paramilitary squads called The Interahamwe were organized into a militia, and fueled by the extremist media attacks. I still remember a prominent Hutu leader (probably militia founder Major General Habyaramana Juvinal) holding press conferences proclaiming: “We will find these cockroaches and smash them all.” 

 “Final Solution” planning was being prepared at all levels.  Hutu media reports indicated they were about to be attacked by the Tutsi, and “They would leave no survivors.”  All that was necessary was a spark to ignite the deliberately positioned powder keg.  When a plane carrying the Presidents of both Rwanda and Burundi crashed mysteriously in early April of 1994, the final explosion occurred.

House to house searches for Tutsi notables began from pre-existing lists.  Roadblocks were set up at each intersection.  Escape became virtually impossible.  The killing was systematic and dehumanizing.  Rarely was it done quickly.  Most was preceded by humiliation, the deliberate infliction of pain (tendons cut so the victims could not escape, allowing slow torture over time), rape, and then death.  Dispatch by machete was the Hutu coup de grace weapon of choice.  Many times, Tutsi were forced to kill their own family members, before being snuffed out themselves.

The world at first refused to believe such atrocities were taking place, and then on the scale that they were.  The United Nations military commander on the scene begged for more troops and the authority to use them.  He was denied.  He later said that, given 5000 troops, he could have ended the genocide within days.  Instead his mission was reduced, and the UN retreated.   Eleven Un peacekeepers were butchered by Hutu militia.  Still the United Nations did nothing.

Even worse, the French – who somehow felt simpatico with the Hutu – told a group of Tutsi Bisesero tribesman who had retreated to the hills that the killing was over, it was now safe to return to their towns and villages.  When they did so, 98% (49 of 50,000) were butchered by the Hutu.  Later, the French provided a safe retreat corridor for the Hutu militia on their way out of the country (to the Congo) just ahead of the victorious RPF advance of July, 1994.  Guerilla problems continue there to this day.

Overall more than 1 million Tutsi and moderate Hutus were killed by the Hutu within 100 days.  Among them were Hutu Prime Minister Agatha Uwirinsivimana, who had preached peace and a cessation of the hate war being preached over the radio and television.  She was murdered on the first day of the genocide, April 6^th.

The miracle that has emerged in the 20 years since is that a genuine peace and reconciliation has taken place within Rwanda.  This is primarily due to Paul Kigame.  The commanding general of the RPF was appointed to office in 2000 after six years of neutral interim government supervised by the United Nations.  He served three years in this capacity, and has since been elected twice as President to successive seven-year terms.  His lat term runs out in 2017.

Taking his cue from Nelson Mandela 2500 miles away in South Africa, Kigame invited the Hutus back from The Congo, Tanzania, Burundi and Kenya and insisted his fellow Tutsi not take steps toward avenging the slaughter they had just experienced.

In an Abraham Lincoln like gesture he insisted that the government take the lead in not just preaching but also demonstrating unity and reconciliation.  He insisted on fair treatment for all.  Kigame announced that tribal affiliations were to be de-emphasized and would no longer be allowed in public discourse.  “There is no more Hutu.  No more Tutsi.  We are all Rwandans,” he repeated over and over.

In the meantime, justice was served on two different levels.  The first was the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda.  This was to mete out penalties to high level perpetrators of the carnage, such as Johani Kambanda and Theoneste Bagasora, Chief of Cabinet of the Ministry of Defense/coordinator of the Interahamwe death squads and mastermind of the genocide.

On the personal level, Rwanda fell back on their traditional tribal or Gacaca justice system to remember if not revenge individual acts of murder and cruelty.  Hearings have been held, and in some cases sentences imposed.  Over 100,000 persons have stood trial for their war activities under the Gacaca system.

One lingering effect of the hate campaign levied by the Hutu against Tutsi was the deliberate fomentation of a rape campaign by men known to be infected with the HIV virus.  As a result, many children now in their late teens and early twenties were born with AIDS.  This presents special problems in itself.  Their mothers, in the meantime, continue to experience and probably will for life medical problems and severe post traumatic stress disorder on a systemic scale.

In the Genocide Memorial, I also learned about other genocides throughout history.  Those included Armenia, Namibia, Poland, Germany, Cambodia, and The Balkans (formerly Yugoslavia).  The intent of any effort is to humiliate, dehumanize, promote mass suffering and deprivation, promote mass rape and murder, cause the victims to lose their culture and identity, and ultimately, to lose their place in history.

The solution is awareness … awareness of the causes, the effects (and how these traumas  affect all of us on a global scale, not just the direct victims), the teaching of unity and reconciliation (both before and after carnage takes place), and rapid international intervention.  Had the United Nations intervened earlier on even a small scale like the United States and European Community did during the Balkan crisis, the tragedy in Rwanda never would have taken place.

While on the bus to the capitol of Kagili in Rwanda, I was introduced to a young man named Eric Mugdbnake.  Pastor Eric.  A 30 year-old Rwandan who had been born in Uganda at a refugee camp of Tutsi parents.  Both passed away in the camp, and Eric was brought by his aunt to Rwanda immediately following the genocide as a ten year-old.  Accompanying him was his nine year-old cousin, Blaise Nkurikiyineza and an assortment of other relatives.  Blaise also lost his parents in the camps.

Eric invited me to stay with he and his extended family, such as it was, in his home on the outskirts of Kigali.  I gladly accepted.  Not for the money savings (which was nice, but illusory).  For the experience.  The opportunity to press the flesh with real people, living real lives, experiencing real problems, and creating new opportunities for themselves daily.

These two orphans are now in the process of raising orphans themselves.  The residue of mothers who have died of AIDS, mothers who have abandoned children due to the crushing emotional stain of conception through rape, and families who simply are too poor and can not afford a child (or another child).  Eric is Pastor of Kigali Maranatha Pentecostal Church.  Both are founders of The Strong Roots Foundation.

The Foundation takes primary care of 12 young orphans (3 to 12 year of age) full-time.  They are housed in the church, which is rented for a pittance from a caring and generous landlord. The church is made of adobe brick walls, has thin pole roof joists overlayed with sheet metal, large wire-mesh windows, and a dirt floor.  Pews line half the floor space.  Several sleeping mats for the children takes up one end of the church.  There are no lights.  A pit toilet is out back in a separate outhouse.

A single speaker’s dais is placed up front.  And not much else.  No furniture.  No Bibles.  There are no lights.  No chalkboard.  No games or toys or separate sets of clothes or shoes for the children.  In addition, perhaps a dozen more children of similar age reside with sponsor families, who at least house and attempt to feed them.  Another dozen from 12 to 17 seem to largely take care of themselves, though they count on the orphanage and foundation for resources.  They often help with the younger kids.

I knew in advance by prior arrangement that I would be visiting with these orphans.  The option was given me to visit them in a house, or at the church.  The latter was selected simply because it was their living environment and they would likely be most at home there.  I had no idea how much these innocents would steal my heart.

They have nothing.  Except for Eric and Blaise and each other and a few older orphan role models who help take care of them.  They are so shy.  So dependent.  They know nothing of the outside world.  They don’t know how much they don’t know.  And they are not aware, of how much they are missing out on.  They don’t know where their next meal is coming from.  They are living life at its simplest level.

During my afternoon wander in Kigali after visiting the Genocide Memorial, I came across a soccer ball.  Complete with pump and inflation needle.  As a soccer goalie, I knew this would be something I’d purchase far in advance.  I just didn’t know for who.  Now I knew.  The ball was given to the kids just short of dusk. It is their very first toy or piece of sporting equipment.  I have never seen such instant delight in my entire life.

 

The children played a combination of rugby, American football, keepaway, and soccer with it.  Not three seconds after handing the ball over, I almost had to Red Card one ten year-old girl for a “High Kick.”  The boy I initially handed the ball to held it at head level.  This did not stop the girl from trying to kick it out of his hands in a modified bicycle kick, despite the fact the ball was over her head.  Where did they get these moves?

The visit with the children is all too brief.  They can not take too much stimulation all at once.  But I know instantly the visit with them is a high point of the trip, and because of them Rwanda is my favorite destination of this epic journey.  My plans will be modified in the future, in order to leave more gifts and support money for them.

Upon leaving for the bus station for the Uganda border, I leave Eric and Blaise with a surprise $500 donation.  And promise more, especially if I can get friends and fellow supporters to also pitch in to this terrific need.  It is my desire they have mattresses to sleep on, a change of clothes and shoes, more toys, flashlights, pencils and paper and reading materials, lighting for their church and sleeping quarters, and most of all, predictable meals.

I gradually come to understand upon leaving that it is the children who are MY gift.  And I am inspired to write:

We are merely vessels

Not donors from an ivory tower.

The works that are sent through us,

Were deigned by a higher power.

We come not hoping to leave our mark

Nor seek out personal favor.

In the final tally of our gifts,

We learn we are nobody’s savior.

Our role is not to benefit

Nor to reap what others sow.

Our task is not to seek out credit,

But to contribute to The Flow.

For we are not the givers

But recipients with opened eyes.

The gifts that are shared between us,

Are what bond our mutual ties.